I spoke with the devil and he told me your name

She danced with the devil
and stole his voice.

It curled from her mouth like smoke,
preferable to the salt water drowning her lungs
or sulfur submerging her bones.

She danced with the devil
and stole his face.

Little witch with skin the colour of soured milk
drank wine from the bottle.
Painted her mouth the shade of her menses,
stared with eyes as hungry as her teeth.

She danced with the devil
and stole his heart.

As he moved within her she listened to the
siren song of his skin against hers.
She will not be his by halves or by seasons for
she is young bones and old desires.
A game where no one wins unless it ends in violence and she
refuses to be his Persephone.